


Little Talks

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Non-Binary Character, Comedy, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: Aziraphale paused, staring at where the plate of chocolates Beelzebub had taken, an odd thought running across his mind.Had he, an angel, just tempted a demon? The Prince of Hell, no less?





	1. Crowley and Gabriel

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Светские беседы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410340) by [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot), [WTF_Good_Omens_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Good_Omens_2020/pseuds/WTF_Good_Omens_2020)



* * *

"Sooo.... Gabriel." Crowley leisurely walked around the binding circle that contained the Archangel. Bit of a slap-dash job, really. But it did the trick. "Do you mind if I call you Gabe?"

"Yes." Was the sullen answer, Gabriel punching the barrier that held him. It miraculously held up. 

Well, with a little help of some demonic energy. Marvelous creators, humans. Came up with the most amazing concepts. 

"Excellent. So, _Gabe_. Here's the thing." Crowley grinned, showing off sharp teeth that did not belong in a human skull. "Do you know what 'Pornography' is?" 

It was just odd enough of a question that it kept the Archangel from taking another swing at the binding circle, and Crowley's head. "It's some sort of human... thing." Gabriel said, waving a hand dismissively. "That they're embarrassed about."

"Ah." Crowley's grin turned into a knowing smirk and he rocked back on his heels. "So you don't." 

"I don't see why it matters." Gabriel muttered sulkily. 

"Well, it does if you're an Archangel committing a sin." Crowley commented, blithely continuing walking around the binding circle. Gabriel went very still at the comment and it took a bit of will power for Crowley not to start cackling maniacally and rubbing his hands together. 

For someone so powerful, Gabriel really was a bit of a daft git. 

"Sin of Lust, to be precise." Crowley lectured. "Pornography, or 'Porn', as it's usually called, is printed or visual depictions of sexual organs or activity. Generally with the intention to arouse. It's, ah. Very erotic."

Gabriel went pale, mouth and opening in closing in a manner not unlike a goldfish. "Uh. I..."

"Walked into a store and loudly proclaimed to all and sundry that you were there to purchase lewd images of humans in various and multiple acts of fornication for your own entertainment." Crowley idly scratched his jaw. "Yes. Quite." 

Crowley didn't even have to punch the large guy and already the Archangel looked ready to fall over. Unfortunately, it didn't take more than a few seconds for Gabriel to roust himself. "Why are you telling me this?" 

"Partially to see your face when you realised what you'd done." Crowley lifted up his phone, which automatically switched over to the camera mode, and he took a photo of Gabriel's gobsmacked expression. He was going to save this one. Maybe even commission a painting of it. "And partly as a warning." 

"Warning." Gabriel deadpanned, looking like he'd finally found some sort of footing. 

"Well, there have been quite a few angels lurking around, such as yourself, since the failed Apocalypse, and you lot realised that Aziraphale and I went ‘native’-" Crowley made air quotes around the word native, not caring if Gabriel understood them or not, he'd hopefully pick up the sarcasm regardless. "-With our immunity to Hell Fire and Holy Water, and all our Questions about various ‘plans’." 

He was pleased to see that there was just the slightest flicker of hesitation in Gabriel's eyes now as the Archangel nodded slowly. 

"Well, those weren’t the only things we picked up from humanity." Crowley smiled again. It wasn't a polite smile. "Humans are frightfully clever. Especially when it comes to coming up with different types of weaponry. Whereas you lot probably don't even know what kind of chaos and havoc a Nerf Blaster can cause." 

Gabriel mouthed the word 'Nerf Blaster' in contemplation, as if trying to imagine what kind of horrific weapon it was. 

"I'm going to take that as a soft 'no'." Crowley purred, taking a step closer and was gratified to see Gabriel take a step back. Oh, the Archangel was powerful, of that there was no doubt, but there was a lot of bluster mixed in with that. Angels didn't question orders, which meant Gabriel had never had to deal with disrespect or someone pushing back. 

Which meant that despite not having the same massive energy levels, Aziraphale, with his prim manners and fussy nature, was more dangerous than Gabriel because he'd had to learn to be adaptable. 

Certainly not as imaginative as Crowley himself, but certainly adaptable for an angel. 

"So here's the deal, as it were." Crowley took his sunglasses off, to stare Gabriel in the eye. "You leave us alone."

Honestly, it was more of a threat than a bargain. But Crowley was kind of out of patience with the denizens of both Above and Below. 

Especially Gabriel. Crowley had been wanting to punch the Archangel in the face ever since he’d taken Aziraphale’s place in Heaven, and Gabriel had told him to shut up and die. But if it was one thing that Hell had taught him was that not all injuries had to be physical to hurt. 

Gabriel ground his teeth for a moment, before lifting his jaw defiantly. "And if we don't?"

"Then you get to find out how much I've been holding back for Aziraphale's sake." Crowley reached out and pointedly tapped the barrier, a noise not unlike a gong reverberating inside of it. Gabriel flinched and covered his ears, looking like he was trying to side-step the noise. 

Without his best friend’s presence throughout the millennia, Crowley would have suffered so much more boredom. And when he got bored, he tended to look for distractions, which could get… **messy**.

"We could always take you out first." Gabriel pointed out. 

"Oh, Gabe." Crowley purred, putting his sunglasses back on. "I don’t have any lower to Fall. But _my_ Angel-?"

Gabriel looked confused, so Crowley spelled it out for him. 

"You really think he'd rejoin Heaven after that?" Crowley laughed. "No. Just picture it. Aziraphale with pure black wings, with all the wrath and fires of Hell behind him, and no reason to restrain himself anymore. And-"

He leaned forward, lowering his voice in a confidential whisper. "-Don't forget that ‘native’ immunity to Holy Water." 

Holy Water, the Angels’ main weapon against Demons, which usually the mere threat of it was enough to keep the Fallen deep down Below. One splash, one drop, and they were out. Take the threat of Holy Water away, and that left Angels with numbers.

There was a reason why Hell Fire was a Demon’s weapon of choice. Angels were surprisingly flammable. 

Of course, should Aziraphale fall, he’d probably lose that immunity to Holy Water-

"Oh." Gabriel breathed, looking properly horrified. 

-But that wasn’t something that Gabriel was sharp enough to realise. 

Falling was not something that Crowley ever wanted for Aziraphale, and he did his damn best to make sure his best friend never even came close to potentially losing his white wings. Chances were almost as good that Aziraphale would either quickly follow Crowley to oblivion, or he’d find a dark hole and never come out again. 

But it did work as a good threat. 

"So." Crowley leaned back and clapped his hands together before rubbing them. "Good talk. Time for you to skedaddle back upstairs, remind everyone to leave us alone, and maybe ask Sandalphon where he learned the word 'Pornography'. And possibly what exactly he's been doing with Rosie Palm and her Five Sisters." 

"Rosie-?" Gabriel echoed, his nose wrinkling in confusion. Crowley snapped his fingers, releasing Gabriel and booting him back upstairs. 

He almost wished he could see the look on Sandalphon's face when Gabriel brought up that whole 'Pornography' thing. Aziraphale had been _so_ annoyed with them about that. 

Speaking of which, it was about tea time and he hadn't seen his Angel yet today. He should probably remedy that, especially since they now they hopefully had one less threat hanging over their heads.


	2. Aziraphale and Beelzebub

* * *

“Welcome!” Aziraphale smiled as warmly as he could at the person who lingered in the entrance way to his bookstore, looking around as if suspecting a trap. “I’ve been expecting you, Prince Beelzebub.”

“You have, have you?” The Lord of Flies’ gaze flickered suspiciously towards him, then around the shop again. 

“Well.” Aziraphale’s smile wavered briefly before returning. “It did not seem likely that either downstairs nor upstairs would let us go quietly, even after the whole ‘Hellfire and Holy Water’ incident. And there have been rather more of both sides lingering about as of late.” 

They’d gone from maybe one on either side every century to suddenly at half dozen angels and demons lingering about every day. It was rather disconcerting, really. And riling Crowley up something fierce, Aziraphale was becoming quite worried that his dear friend was going to do something rash. 

Hence the open door invitation. The best to nip this whole thing in the bud, really. 

Although he had not quite expected a _Prince_ of Hell to make an appearance. More along the lines of one of the Dukes. Dagon, or perhaps Hastur whom Crowley had mentioned had quite the animosity towards him. 

“Hmm.” They seemed to muse over his words, the set of their shoulders relaxing a fraction, not noticing as the flies that swarmed around their head settled slightly. 

“Please do feel free to come in.” Aziraphale gesturing expansively for Beelzebub to enter, ignoring the stench that the Prince brought in with them. “Crowley has never feared of coming to harm here.”

Beelzebub sniffed disdainfully, as if they’d just smelled something rotten. “Of course he wouldn’t.” 

Aziraphale tried not to bristle at the derisive tone. For all he knew, a demon that frequented an angel’s abode was the Hellish equivalent to an angel that might visit a den in iniquity for something other than the salvation of souls. 

He gestured to a table he’d prepared in front of the cash register. He’d cleared off one of the tables that usually held towers of books, and setting out a proper high tea, complete with a three-tiered cake stand, fine china, and embroidered linen tablecloths. 

He’d purposely settled in in front of the windows of the book shop, where any passerbyers could see the grand display. Even if the biscuits on the cake stand were from Tesco. He saw no reason wasting _good_ food on those who wouldn’t even know the difference. 

Although he did have some small delectables for when Crowley popped in. The demon had certainly been doing more of that of late, which delighted Aziraphale immensely. 

Aziraphale pulled a seat out for Beelezbub, motioning for them to sit before taking his own seat, scooting closer to the table. “I’ll just bitch the pot, shall I?” He said brightly, picking up the steaming teapot and pouring it into the two elegantly painted bone china cups. 

Beelzebub sat down, looking over the table and the small spread with a disdainful curl of their lip. “Food?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale let the word hang in the air as he attempting to school his features into understanding. “I see. Gabriel is much the same way about the human custom of eating. Not wanting to ‘sully the temple of his celestial body with’-“

Beelzebub shoved three biscuits into their mouth and immediately began to chew. “Not bad.” They proclaimed, spraying crumbs across the table.

“I’m _so_ glad.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to flinch at the lack of manners. Even mortals had better manners than that. He gestured to the two cups of tea he’d poured. “Which ever one you’d like.” 

“Hmm.” They debated a moment before choosing one, pulling it close to their chest and sniffing it. “Smells like fire.”

“Lapsang Souchong.” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s a black tea from the Fujian Province in China. They smoke over pine wood for several hours to give it the distinct rich smoky flavour. I thought you might like it.”

Crowley had said it reminded him of Hell, the deep smokeness, and the heat of it. Aziraphale still wasn’t sure if that was a complement or not. 

But then Crowley didn’t drink a lot of tea, although he would occasionally steal Aziraphale’s Earl Grey, especially if he added more milk than was his usual wont.

“There’s milk, lemon, sugar, and honey, if you’d like.” Aziraphale featured to the table. “Although if you’re not used to tea, I would advise against mixing the lemon and milk together as it will curdle the milk and spoil the drink.” 

He added a dash of milk to his, just enough to mellow and sweeten the flavour a bit. Beelzebub gave the lemon a suspicious sniff, then started adding honey and sugar cubes to their tea and Aziraphale fought to keep a straight face at the sweet confection. 

Well, humans _did_ say one could catch more flies with honey…. 

“Do you invite all the demons you meet to tea?” Beelzebub inquired, smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be charming and came across as predatory. 

“Oh, no. Not all.” Aziraphale fussed with the napkin on the table, settling it in his lap, and then smoothing out the wrinkles to give his hands something to do. “It took over 4,000 years after the Garden before Crowley and I could be tempted to shared a meal.”

And even then, it was Aziraphale tempting Crowley into trying oysters, not that Beelzebub needed that little fact. Best to let them think it was the other way around. 

“So as you can see.” Aziraphale gave Beelzebub a sweet smile. “This is quite the exception, seeing as we’ve only met the one time. And I’ve never had any angels sit down to tea with me before at all.” 

“Such a pity.” Beelzebub cooed, helping themselves to a jaffa cake, their eyes lighting up at it. Aziraphale made an educated guess on what had garnered their attention, between the orange and the chocolate. 

“Try the bourbon creams.” Aziraphale offered them the chocolate covered chocolate biscuits with a bit of chocolate cream sandwiched between. As much as he adored chocolate, it was a bit much for him. 

They did, eyes going wide as they began grabbing all of the bourbon creams, hoarding the treats on their plate and shoving several more into their mouth. 

“Chocolate.” Aziraphale nodded. “It is one of the nicer things humans have invented.”

“Looks like shit.” Beelzebub pointed out, several of their flies swarming the chocolate in their hands, like it was so much brown excrement. 

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale nodded. He’d made much the similar comparison when chocolate had become accessible to Europe in the early 1600s. It hadn’t been nearly as sweet as it was now, but then it’d been consumed as a drink back then. He turned the cake stand around, so that some of the other treats were accessible. “Chocolate digestive?”

Beelzebub did so, promptly stealing all of them. Aziraphale struggled to keep his smile pleasant and neutral at the show of avarice. Although there was some pleasure at seeing someone enjoy something for the first time. 

The flow of food abruptly stopped as Beelzebub stopped and stared at the biscuits. “These aren’t poisoned, are they?” 

Aziraphale nearly spat his tea out in shock. “No! Goodness gracious, no!” He looked at them, appalled. “What kind of host would I be if I did that?!” 

For one thing, their ‘human’ bodies were mostly immune to poisons, or he and Crowley wouldn’t be able to survive their drinking binges. 

Beelzebub stared at him for a minute, expression blank before they started laughing. Aziraphale pressed his lips together in displeasure as the laughter took on a distinct mocking sound. 

“You. You’re not what I expected.” They wiped their eyes with a finger, then grabbed their teacup and downed the drink, nearly slamming it down on the table. Aziraphale immediately set his teacup down and poured them another cupful. 

“Well, thank you.” Aziraphale smiled politely. That sounded a lot like a complement. Probably wasn’t, but it _sounded_ like one, so he’d take it that way. 

They snorted, dropping a handful of sugar cubes into their tea. “The traitor Crowley’s reports make it sound like you’re a ‘Champion of Heaven’. A paragon of virtue, stronger and smarter, thwarting his wiles at every turn.” They bared their teeth at him, a mockery of a smile. 

“Oh.” He found himself flushing in pleasure, ducking his head at the praise. The old serpent certainly knew how to flatter. 

“What are you? A Virtue?” Beelzebub drawled. 

“Oh, nothing so grand.” Aziraphale shook his head modestly. “I’m a Principality.” First Tier of the Third Sphere, the lowest Sphere, only above minor archangels, regular angels, and humans. Nothing as lofty as the First Sphere. Or like Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel who led the Choirs. 

Principalities were tasked with guarding a people, or a land. Aziraphale had been tasked with watching over Humanity, something that he took great pride and delight in. 

He’d _chosen_ to watch over Crowley as well. His dear friend was clever and strong, but he didn’t always think things through. 

“A _Principality_.” Beelzebub’s smile grew wider, something wild crackling in the air around them, and Aziraphale was reminded that they were a Prince, on level with Metatron, the Voice of God Herself. The most powerful being in Hell, second only to Satan. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and all that.” 

They laughed, a quiet delighted chuckle. “You’re so _soft_.” They crooned. 

For a moment, Gabriel’s words to lose the gut flashed through his mind. ‘Soft’, meaning ‘weak’. 

‘Weak’ meaning ‘useless’. And the armies of Heaven had no use for the useless. 

It was a bit harder to force a smile onto his face, but he managed it, a slight wobbly thing. “Yes.” He agreed. “I suppose I am.” 

Beelzebub cackled, tilting their head back, mouth opened wide, and it almost appeared that there was more than one set of teeth in their mouth. 

Aziraphale flinched and hunched slightly, making himself look smaller. Being overlooked, being _weak_ was what enabled him to be ignored by both Heaven and Hell for six millennia. He wasn’t sure he liked all the sudden attention now. 

“I bet you haven’t even killed anyone.” Beelzebub mocked, shoving more biscuits into their mouth. 

“Not on purpose, anyway.” Aziraphale admitted. Although he’d tried. Once. 

Thank goodness Madame Tracey had interfered and he’d missed hitting the Antichrist. Adam was such a dear boy. 

“All those reports Crowley sent back, he _lied_.” Beelzebub cackled. “Made you seem so much stronger and smarter, foiling him at every turn, but it was all made up. I could kill you right now.” Beelzebub added almost casually, as if it’d be the slightest of trifels to do so. They drained their teacup again, slamming it back down on the table. 

Aziraphale immediately poured them another, steam curling up from the teacup as it filled. “Please don’t.” He requested. “I quite like living.” 

Beelzebub cackled again, sending the hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck standing straight up. “You’re so _soft_.” They said again, as if they couldn’t believe it, shovelling sugar into their teacup again, as if it was proof of what they’d said. “I could probably put my hand through your chest and you’d _thank_ me for it!” 

“Well, I had hoped for a civilized conversation.” Aziraphale admitted, hands fluttering distressingly in the air before resting against the edge of the table. “The way things are going, I’d have to leave England, and I quite like it here. I’d most likely have to move to Africa. After all, there are no demons there.” 

That earned him a perplexed look, as if Beelzebub was trying to figure out if they had anyone stationed there. 

“It’s, ah. It’s a joke.” Aziraphale explained, fiddling with his teacup. “Why aren’t there any demons in Africa?” 

He got a look of disdainful confusion, as if the Prince of Hell was debating doing what they’d said and rip his chest open. Aziraphale smiled, just a little giddily. “Because someone _blessed_ the rains down in Africa!” 

There was a small pause, the only sounds coming from outside, the hustle and bustle of the street outside.

“... I don’t get it.” Beelzebub said flatly, unamused. 

“Yes, well. It’s quite the human joke.” Aziraphale smile drooped slightly and he took a sip of his tea. He certainly hadn’t understood it the first time he’d heard it either, until Crowley made him listen to the song. 

Beelzebub sniffed dismissively and took a large gulp of their tea, like it was the only thing keeping them from killing Aziraphale. 

-And promptly choked, tossing the teacup on to the ground where it shattered, holding their hands to their smoking mouth. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” They screamed in horror, flies making a sound not unlike a tornado as they buzzing rapidly around their head.

“Blessed the tea in your teacup.” He said calmly. “Only a little bit. Since it is already infused with plant matter, it’s not enough to dissolve you completely. No, for that, I’d need a larger amount. Say, how much tea have you drunk?” 

He glanced pointedly at their stomach, where the tea they’d already drank sat. Horror filled Beelzebub’s face. 

“Extinction.” Aziraphale mused, taking a small sip. “Such a nice word to get around saying 'murdered’.” 

They screamed, eyes flashing red as they pointed at the teacup in his hand. He could feel the dark twisted energies of a curse rush at him and roll past without touching him or his teacup. 

Aziraphale took a longer, more pointed sip of tea, then set his teacup down in the saucer with a dainty little clink. “Really.” He stated disapprovingly. “That’s quite rude, you know.” 

As if he’d be so foolish to invite them in without placing protections first. 

He’d painstakingly drawn protective sigils on the bottoms of all the china for just this reason. The incident in the church back in 1941 had been very informative when it came to double dealing and backstabbing.

“The thing is.” Aziraphale said calmly, lacing his fingers together on the table to keep them from shaking. “You tried to kill my best friend.” 

Beelzebub gave him a confused, blank look, like they couldn’t figure out who Aziraphale was talking about. 

“Crowley.” He stated, just a tad irritated. “After 6,000 years, I’ve become very fond of him, shall we say. Which is why if anything were to happen to him, I would not hesitate to march into Hell and **make it _rain_**.”

The flask of Holy Water he’d given Crowley wasn’t the only Holy Water he had. Learning to trust Crowley hadn’t been a short process, and one couldn’t be too careful when dealing with the denizens of Below. 

And the thing about Holy Water was that it purified any water it touched. If Dante were to believed, the first five levels of Hell involved water of some kind, including the river Styx. With the amount of Holy Water he had hidden on Earth, he could conceivably wipe out half of Hell in one blow. 

Without Crowley, he’d be highly motivated to do so. 

“You’d fall.” Beelzebub protested. 

“You say that if as if that wouldn’t stop me from burning Heaven down from the skies.” Aziraphale said sweetly. “After all. They tried to kill me too. Of course, you wouldn’t happen to know how Heaven got that Hellfire, would you, your Excellency?”

Beelzebub pressed their lips together in a hard, flat line. Aziraphale could feel the power building up in the air like static before a lightning strike, no doubt focused towards him. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the carpet below the tea table began to glow holy white. “I may not be the font of power you are.” Aziraphale said, heart budding fast in his chest. “But I’m quite certain not even you would survive the direct light of Heaven. Or being teleported there.” 

He wasn’t entirely certain Heaven would answer if he actually tried to teleport up, but Beelzebub didn’t need to know that. 

“Of course, if you did survive the trip there, what are the chances you’d survive there for long?” He gave them a delighted smile. “The Prince of Hell appearing on Heaven’s doorstep might be enough to spark a war between the two. And have the added benefit of leaving Earth out of it.” 

Beelzebub gave him a long, hard look, as if seeing him, _really_ seeing him for the first time. 

“I’m _soft_.” Aziraphale said quietly, his mouth softening into a more genuine smile. “I loathe fighting. I like Earth. I love humanity, and all the amazing things they do. And for that to continue, I am quite willing to, as they say, Duck. Shit. **Up**.” 

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t quite how the saying went, but he’d never been big on swearing. Too crass. 

Beelzebub made a sound like a strangled laugh, sitting back down in their chair with an ungraceful plop. “You’d make a fantastic demon.” They said approvingly, shoving a jaffa cake in their mouth and grinning widely, showing off their teeth. “You should join us.” 

“Oh _please_.” He sniffed, letting the glow die. “I’ve been tempted by better. He failed too.” 

The expressions shifting on Beelzebub’s face as they realised he was referring to Crowley were delightful. He almost wished he had a camera. Crowley would have no doubt thought to bring one, bless him. 

“To be honest, he’s the more dangerous of the two of us.” Aziraphale assured her. They were both demons after all. “He’s **creative**.”

Beelzebub’s head tilted to the side, a mix of confused and surprised. “You love him.” 

“Fiercely.” There was no point in Aziraphale denying it now. He was a creature of love. And now he had not only the ability, but the freedom to do just that. 

He’d spent far too long pushing Crowley away in the hopes of protecting him from the wrath of both their sides. He was not going to continue that mistake. 

“He’s a demon.” Beelzebub laughed. It unnerving, like the buzzing of ten thousand flies. “He’ll never love you.” They crooned with mock-sympathy. 

The thought hurt. Just a little. Mostly because it was one he’d had before, many times before. But he hadn’t hung out with Crowley, helped raise a human boy together, then faced down an Apocalypse together not to have a little faith in his best friend. 

“That’s his choice to make.” Aziraphale said, proud that his voice didn’t wobble, coming out as gracious as he could have wished. “And that’s not a choice that either Heaven or Hell can make for him.” 

Beelzebub wrinkled their nose, as if they were debating it. 

“-Back to the matter at hand.” Aziraphale said, fiddling with his plate, then cupping his tea cup. “To be honest, when I first concocted this little scheme of mine, I imagined it’d be one of the young, minor demons you’ve had watching the place. First generation, I believe? They don’t feel like Fallen Angels.”

Disposable, as Crowley had put it with a note of scorn when he’d pointed them out. Far weaker than either Aziraphale or Crowley.

“Correct.” Beelzebub nodded, the contemplative look remaining on their face. “Not the brightest, but useful.”

Aziraphale gave a little happy wiggle. He’d thought as much. “How exciting! This is probably their first excursion to Earth, and this is such a delightful place. I thought I’d maybe introduce the to some of the delights humans have created, especially in the past few centuries. Answer any questions they might have about the planet or humanity.”

Much to his surprise, Beelzebub’s eyes went wide, as if this was the worst possible thing that Aziraphale could do. Really, as one of the two beings who had been on this planet since the beginning, he was slacking on his hosting duties. 

“But!” Aziraphale waved it off. “Since you’re here, I have a question for you!” 

“... Me?” Beelzebub echoed, eyeing him as if he were some sort of small yappy terrier they weren’t sure if they could drop kick or not. 

“Yes.” He nodded, smiling in delight as he motioned around the bookstore. “As you see, I collect books, specifically books of Prophecy. I have quite a collection, dating all the way back to the beginning of human writing.” 

Not all of his early collection was Prophecy, he did have several cuneiform tablets tucked away from when Crowley was a copper merchant going by the name ‘Ea-Nasir’ and introducing the concept of ‘poor customer service’. Crowley had been so proud of the complaints he’d gathered that Aziraphale never had the heart to throw them out. 

“And out of all the books I’ve read and gathered, only one has mentioned the most recent events. The only book of True Prophecy.” He leaned forward. “And according to it, the End Times don’t happen.” 

Beelzebub’s mouth opened, staring at him in something close to shock and horror, a fly resting on their lips. “It-?”

“Nope.” Aziraphale shook his head. “The Hellhound, the Antichrist, the Horsemen, all of us, Crowley and myself included, gathering in Tadfield, yes. The End Times? No. It was never foretold. At least by humans.”

They closed their mouth, swallowing once, and Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure if they had just swallowed a bug or not. For a moment, he was sure they were going to accuse him of lying. 

“You have a question?” Beelzebub asked, sounding on the edge of a knife blade and not sure which way they’d fall. 

“Yes. You said that the events of Apocalypse were written.” Aziraphale reached over to the pen he’d tucked under the cake stand. He uncapped it, grabbing a paper napkin and jotted a few words down. He passed the napkin over to Beelzebub, then leaned back in his chair, keeping the mocking out of his voice as he mimicked their words from the airfield. “The Great Plan.” 

Beelzebub took the napkin and read the single sentence, lips moving to form the words. They paused and re-read it again, then once more. The words didn’t change. 

_'Where was it written?'_

Just because something was written down didn’t make it true. For all they knew, the ‘Great Plan’ could be written on something as paltry as a crumpled napkin. 

Aziraphale knew snippets of how it was supposed to go, but he couldn’t remember how or when. And since he didn’t know where the origin was, it wasn’t as if he could go and double check precisely _what_ was written. 

There was a possibility it had been written in the stars, but if so, the stars had shifted in the last 6,000 years.

Beelzebub read the note again, over and over, he could see doubt starting to creep into their expression. The same doubt he and Crowley had, for bringing about the end of the World. He began to get the feeling that they didn’t know where it was written, or what it said either. 

If Humans didn’t have the Great Plan written down, and Hell didn’t have the Great Plan written down, then there was only one place that it could be. 

He didn’t think either of them were very trusting of Heaven at the moment. 

Then the Prince of Hell let out a roar of frustration, crumpling the napkin and throwing it to the ground, storming out of the building. The bell above the door jingled as the door slammed behind them. 

Aziraphale watched them go, his unnecessary heart beating loudly in his chest. After a moment, he realised that they were gone, actually gone, and slumped back into his chair. 

“So glad we had this little talk.” Aziraphale said to to the air, a bit of a nervous twitter to his voice now that the danger had passed. “I do hope we won’t have to do this again.”

He giggled to himself, nerves crashing back now that the danger had passed. He couldn’t believe that he’d dared to speak back to a Prince of Hell. All told, that hadn’t been quite as terrible as he had feared. Still, not an experience that he’d like to repeat-

The door opened and Beelzebub marched back in, a look of fiery determination on their face. “And I’m taking these with me!” They declared, grabbing the overflowing plate full of chocolate biscuits and storming back out again.

“Yes. Alright.” Aziraphale weakly agreed as the door slammed shut once more. 

Oh my. He took a moment to compose himself, straightening his clothing, running his fingers across the familiar fabric of his favourite coat. That had been quite… invigorating. Yes. That was it. 

He took a deep breath and let it out. It was over now, and hopefully this would mean they could finally have some peace. In the meantime, he needed to clear the dishes…

Aziraphale paused, staring at where the plate of chocolates Beelzebub had taken, an odd thought running across his mind. 

Had he, an angel, just tempted a demon? The Prince of Hell, no less?

He pressed his fingers to his lips, muffling the little giggle that bubbled up. If it wasn’t for the fact that it’d mean having to explain to Crowley that he’d _invited_ a demon to sit down for tea, and dealing with subsequent explosion of overprotective temper, it’d be a delightful little thing to share. 

Maybe he could ask Crowley what precisely defined a ‘temptation’ instead. 

The bell above the door broke him out of his little musings and he looked up to find Crowley swaggering in. “Oh! Crowley! I wasn’t expecting you until later this evening!” He smiled, trying not to panic. He’d meant to have all this put away before his friend arrived. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Crowley said, his head twisting back and forth in a slightly reptilian manner, nostrils flaring slightly. He opened his mouth, breathing in like he was tasting the air, before making an offended face. “Smells like excrement in here. Sewage line break, Angel?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Aziraphale admitted. He hadn’t been aware of the stench, but then the nose did tend to adjust and learn to ignore it after a certain amount of time. 

“Hn.” Crowley shrugged it off, wandering in and taking a look at the table and the tea arrangement on it. “Tea for one?” 

Aziraphale glanced at the place where Beelzebub and realised that the other place setting was gone, smashed or taken. “Mixing up a little.” He said jovially, gesturing grandly in the air. “Sometimes it’s nice to be fancy at home.” 

“True that.” Crowley agreed, then swiped Aziraphale's tea, chugging it back before Aziraphale could do much more than widen his eyes in alarm. 

His _blessed_ tea. 

Crowley sat the cup back down on the table. “Needs more milk.” He commented, then wandered off towards the back room. “Got any decent reds laying around?” 

“Oh. Yes.” Aziraphale picked up the tea cup, examining it. “I believe there’s some in the back.” He said absently. 

He lifted the cup higher, verifying that the sigil was still on it and active, then took a careful sip. It was still blessed, the touch of the holy-ish water feeling like light in his mouth. 

It had burned Beelzebub’s lips. Crowley hadn’t noticed. 

… Wasn’t _that_ interesting?

Aziraphale smiled, setting the teacup down before rising to join his dear friend. 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to [CleverCorgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverCorgi/pseuds/CleverCorgi) for looking this over.


End file.
